


Blood swept lands

by Cookie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is war.  There is always war and each is worse than the last and still Arthur does not return.  Merlin is always doing what he can to ease suffering, waiting for his King to return.  In 1916 he's in France, and for the first time, he prays he doesn't see Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood swept lands

**Author's Note:**

> A short story for Armistice Day, inspired by the 'Blood swept lands and sea of red' installation at the Tower of London. Unbetad so my apologies for any errors.
> 
> This is for Amphigoury - to go with the poppies.

_The blood swept lands and seas of red,_

_Where angels dare to tread._

_As I put my hand to reach,_

_As God cried a tear of pain as the angels fell,_

_Again and again._

_As the tears of mine fell to the ground_

_To sleep with the flowers of red_

_As any be dead_

_My children see and work through fields of my_

_Own with corn and wheat,_

_Blessed by love so far from pain of my resting_

_Fields so far from my love._

_It be time to put my hand up and end this pain_

_Of living hell. to see the people around me_

_Fall someone angel as the mist falls around_

_And the rain so thick with black thunder I hear_

_Over the clouds, to sleep forever and kiss_

_The flower of my people gone before time_

_To sleep and cry no more_

_I put my hand up and see the land of red,_

_This is my time to go over,_

_I may not come back_

_So sleep, kiss the boys for me_

 

Written by an unknown soldier of the First World War

 

Casualty Clearing Station, France July 1916

 

“Doctor Emerson, we need you here.” 

Merlin reacted to the urgent call, his tired body moving based on an instinct borne of hearing the same cry too many times.  Pushing his own exhaustion to one side, he patted the man he was tending on the shoulder – one of the lucky ones, injured just badly enough to send him home from this hell - and made his way swiftly up through the serried ranks of the wounded on their cots.  He hated the way he’d become inured to their suffering – at least until he saw the figure writhing on the examination table; a patrician profile and what should be bright blond hair now filthy with blood and mud. His stomach rebelled and he felt the colour leach from his skin as he staggered and had to force himself to look down. 

It wasn’t Arthur. 

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Merlin slipped back into professional mode, trying to ease the boy’s pain while they assessed the injury. Everyone always said Merlin had a special talent for medicine and, in this ghastly theatre of war, a special skill for easing pain and the passing of those who would not survive. Young men like this beautiful boy, all his promise and possibilities lost to a brutal conflict. It was the price of Merlin using his magic to help them, to witness a brief flash of the life that would never be, the children never born, the great gifts that would ever be unknown. He saw it now, the scribblings in an old notebook that would never become glorious prose to move a world, the shining smile of a proud woman with her arms round two strong handsome boys. 

Usually the grief would hit hard and he would have to hide it from those around him, but today it was guilt, because all he could feel was utter relief that it wasn’t his King.   The boy’s eyes closed and his chest stilled, finally free from pain, and Merlin staggered backwards to slump onto a stool.

 The sister, a terrifying termagant on the surface, bustled up, her uniform still giving off a pristine impression despite the blood spattered across the apron.

 “You haven’t stopped for almost two days, Doctor.” She couldn’t quite hide the concern beneath her scolding manner.  They had all adopted their layers of armour to help them through but sometimes – even here – their own humanity slipped through the cracks. “Go and get some sleep.  We’ll call you if we can’t cope, I promise.”

 Merlin nodded, knowing it was no false promise.  If there was another attack then everyone would be needed. He knew he should eat, too, but couldn’t bear the thought of it and instead he stumbled back to the tent housing his own cot, unseeing and heartsore.

 For over a thousand years he’d done his best to help humanity, wanting to be able to look his King in the eye when … when, please the Gods not if but when … Arthur returned.  With every passing century, with every war and every horror man unleashed upon man, Merlin had expected Arthur to appear, to lead them into a brighter future.

 This time he’d been sure.  How could the Gods stand by and let this happen?  Surely it was time for Arthur to come back.  Merlin had been a doctor for centuries now, repeating his medical training each time he allowed himself to be young again, soaking up all the new discoveries over the centuries and doing what he could to alleviate suffering. Keeping himself busy, he knew, to try and ease the ever-present ache of Arthur’s absence. Every day since this war began had been an agony, positive Arthur would return and scared every time that the next casualty would be him.  Grief threatened to overwhelm Merlin and he swallowed it down, rubbing his hand fiercely across his eyes.  Exhaustion washed over him in its wake and he paused only long enough to shuck off his boots, pulling a blanket over him as he lay down and let blessed unconsciousness take him.

  

**

 

Merlin woke to a different world, roused by the sound of gentle waves lapping against a lakeshore and the rustling of leaves as a playful breeze swirled around. He sat up, confused, before accepting he must be dreaming because the lake he’d known as Avalon had disappeared once he’d given Arthur over to it, and he’d never been able to find it since. 

“I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

 For over a thousand years Merlin had waited to hear that voice, slightly petulant and oozing arrogance and he laughed through sudden tears as he scrambled to his feet, turning to see Arthur leaning against a tree, arms folded. 

Even if it was only a dream, it would do, and he stumbled over the grass until he was falling against a broad chest and Arthur was wrapping strong arms around him, holding him close.  It was immensely comforting and Arthur, displaying a sensitivity he’d rarely shown in his lifetime, said nothing more but left Merlin to grieve. Other than the hand gently stroking up and down Merlin’s back and the steady in and out of Arthur’s chest as he breathed, there was no movement.  Merlin twisted his hands in the material of the tunic Arthur was wearing and tipped his head so he could press his face to Arthur’s chest and breathe in his scent. 

It was a long time before he could speak, and in the end it was Arthur who broke the silence. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know.  The way you’re helping where you can, the way you’ve done that all through the years.” 

It convinced Merlin even more that this was a dream, never imagining the real Arthur would ever say such a thing, but he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to talk to Arthur even if it was only in his imagination. 

“I kept thinking you’d come back, Arthur.  Surely this time?  It’s so awful, surely we need you now?” 

“Not yet, Merlin.  I’m sorry, you’ll have to go on waiting for a while yet.”

 “But why?” 

“I’ll return when Albion’s need is greatest, Merlin.  Albion’s need isn’t the same as the needs of men.”

 Merlin drew in a deep breath as he took Arthur’s meaning. Not the people but the land itself. Gods, how much longer?

 “Arthur, Arthur, I don’t think I can go on any more.”  The admission tumbled out urgently, forced out by the memories of what he’d witnessed, the horror men could inflict upon one another. 

Arthur moved then, gripping Merlin’s shoulders and holding tight as he eased him back until Merlin could see the beloved features, witness the concern there. 

“You must and you will, Merlin, because I’ll need you.” The stern cast to his expression eased then, becoming a rueful smile. “I’ve always needed you by my side, you know that.” 

There was silence as they gazed at one another and Merlin could only guess what his own face was giving away as Arthur smiled almost shyly at him, and his quiet gasp was swallowed by Arthur as he leaned in and pressed his lips to Merlin’s mouth. 

It was a fleeting caress and Merlin could only stare in shock at the slight blush on Arthur’s cheek for a moment, seeing the sudden uncertainty and it pushed him into action, giving into a longing that was centuries old. Wrapping his arms tight around Arthur’s torso, he kissed him, pouring all his love and desire into this single kiss. Arthur’s hold was just as tight, but Merlin could feel the dream fading and broke away to cry out. 

“Don’t leave me!” 

“Wait for me, Merlin.” 

“I promise.  I will I promise.”

 

**

 

Merlin was shocked out of his sleep by the boom of the great guns beginning another bombardment and pressed his hand to the centre of his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart.  The transitory sense of peace he’d found in his dream was gone and he was shocked when he wiped his face and found the recent evidence of tears.  There was no way he would sleep further and when he checked his watch and saw he’d managed an entire six hours, he decided it was time to get back to the ward.  By the sound of it, there would be more young men needing his care soon. 

As he moved, something tumbled off the bed.  Puzzled, he searched around on the wooden floor of the tent, catching a glint of something under the cot and he reached into the space, hauling out his prize. 

It was a ring. 

It was Arthur’s ring.

  

**

  

**The Tower of London, November 2014**

 

Merlin wasn’t sure why he’d come, but of all the commemorative activity taking place, this was the one thing that had really resonated with him. He’d smiled wryly at all the reports talking about how the First World War had now passed from living memory, he’d even attended the funeral of the last known survivor, but he was hardly going to tell them any different.  Not that they’d believe a first year medical student anyway. 

He touched his hand to his chest where Arthur’s ring was as always a comforting and comfortable weight, and he stared out at the moat filled with its ceramic poppies, ignoring the press of the crowds constantly moving to and fro. He’d seen so much death and horror during the war that was supposed to end all wars, and then all of those that followed, and yet this visual representation of all those lives was one of the most horrifying and devastating things he’d ever witnessed. Reaching out with his magic, he let it wash across the moat and wondered if there was someone else’s magic at work when every one his senses encountered had a face and a story and a life attached.  Perhaps it was only his own memories, the boys whose lives he’d touched, those whose passing he’d eased.  He shivered and turned away, suddenly too disturbed to stay any longer. 

His passage through the crowd was halted abruptly as he walked directly into someone.  He glanced up to offer his apology and the words died in his throat. 

Blue, blue eyes met his and a hand rose to push back blond hair as Arthur stared at him. 

Merlin was beyond words and Arthur shook his head and chuckled as he reached out and pulled Merlin into his arms.  It dawned on Merlin then that Arthur was wearing modern dress but any other thoughts were brushed aside as Arthur whispered into his ear. 

“I missed you so much.” 

Merlin wrapped his own arms around Arthur. “Me, too,” he managed past the sudden blockage in his throat. 

For a long time they stood in their embrace with the crowd ebbing and flowing around them. 

“You’re back,” Merlin said eventually 

“Still good at stating the obvious, then.” 

Arthur was teasing, Merlin recognised the tactic from Camelot, recalling how often it was used when emotions were running too high. 

“I love you.” The words slipped out before he could censor them and Merlin watched as the teasing light in Arthur’s eyes faded and his features settled into something altogether more serious. 

“I know,” Arthur replied. “And I love you, too.” He hesitated for a moment and Merlin knew such openness was difficult for him. “I always did.” 

There was a bustle of movement and a shifting in the crowd, breaking into their reunion. 

“What is it?” Arthur asked.

 “At sundown every day they play the last post and read some of the names of those who died.”  The words almost clogged in Merlin’s throat.  This was why he’d come today because, using his magic, the names read out today would be of some of his boys, some of those beautiful, promising lads who had given up their lives for nothing. 

Arthur was looking at him as if he either knew or guessed. He didn’t speak though, he simply captured Merlin’s hand and drew him through the crowd until they could see. Then he stood behind Merlin and pulled him into the circle of his arms until Merlin's back was warmed by the heat of Arthur's chest.  Arthur was a silent comforting presence as the names were read, the Last Post sounded, and Merlin wept.

 

 

Fin

 

_They shall grow not old_

 


End file.
